


Island of Lost Souls

by miasnape



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Almost AU, Car Sex, Drunk Sex, First Time, Gay Bar, M/M, Pre-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, The 90s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miasnape/pseuds/miasnape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1990 and Rodney McKay is 22 years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Island of Lost Souls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlebuttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=littlebuttercup).



It's 1990 and Rodney McKay is 22 years old. He's also wearing really unflattering clothes and he has stupid hair. Just like everyone else, it'll take a few years and some really embarrassing photographs to realise quite _how_ stupid, but although he keeps up with fashion enough to avoid ridicule, he doesn't really give a damn about it.

It's the summer between totally acing his undergraduate degree at MIT and starting his fabulous career as a North Eastern astrophysics grad student, and he's back in Canada, ostensibly visiting his father and sister, although really only because it won't cost him anything to stay there for a few months while he gets everything sorted for the new semester.

Jeannie has just turned 13 and hates everything including him, except when he agrees to drive her and her friends somewhere, which he doesn't do often, because they're all very pink and annoying and they sing off-key Blondie songs in his backseat when they're not giggling over boys. Two of them have crushes on him, which would be nice if they weren't almost a decade younger than him, but as it is, it's just another annoyance to add to the list.

This summer, his main hobby is going through physics journals and writing letters to the editors denigrating the authors of the articles' intelligence, with point-by-point evidence to back up his case. It doesn't take a man of his mental capacity long, and so he has another hobby to keep him busy. His name is Mike.

Mike is a teacher, and the summer when Rodney meets him he's also an 'Educational Consultant' for a TV series of short cartoons for kids about science. In June Rodney avoids spending time with his father by hanging around Mike's apartment. In between bouts of really hot sex he helps Mike make the principles of Acceleration or Kinetic and Potential Energy accessible to the average 6-12 year old. Rodney's never been average, but he adjusts for what he would have understood at about 4 or 5, and that seems to work.

In July he and Mike have more hot sex and write about inclined planes and levers and make lewd jokes about screws and wheels that are in no way suitable for children, and Rodney's actually really happy for once in his life.

In August he discovers Mike having hot sex with Judy, Mike's upstairs neighbour. She's blonde and curvy and blue-eyed and even though she probably has an IQ of under 100, Rodney can see how someone would go for her over him. He's got the blonde hair and blue eyes, but he's still ridiculously scrawny, albeit with shoulders and hands and a smile that are all too big for him. After Mike and Judy the smile turns into a crooked smirk, and it takes something kind of special to even it back out into a smile again.

That night he gets dressed up in five different shades of black and puts on far too much eyeliner and goes out to a club downtown. He's on his fifth beer when someone decent looking and with more intelligence than his soggy beer mat finally hits on him. Actually, he's completely gorgeous and he makes more than a few witty and sarcastic comments, and Rodney doesn't hear his name over the music.

Two more beers and much - increasingly incoherent - complaining about bimbos and scientists who sell out to the television industry later and the guy is still sitting beside him, listening with a quirky grin and then dancing with him in a way that makes him very aware of his hips. The guy has a short mullet that looks only semi-ridiculous and which, although it sticks out in a million different directions, is really soft when Rodney threads his fingers through it to kiss him. He has eyes that change colour with the lights and his lips are so perfect that Rodney almost wants to weep.

They make out for a long while up against the wall at the back of the club, and then their kisses get a bit more breathy and their hands move further and further south. Rodney can't exactly bring a random guy home to fuck, not with his dad and baby sister there. Mullet guy is only in town for the weekend with some friends who are, if Rodney hears properly (which is questionable), in the Air Force, so they can't really go back to his hotel room either.

They end up in the back seat of Rodney's car in a corner of the parking lot of the club under a burnt out street light, sprawled over the scarred leather seat, their legs tangled together and their hands struggling under layers of clothing. Mullet guy's big heavy-booted foot accidentally bangs into his shin, hard, and when his t-shirt is finally pulled off Rodney's elbow flies into the guy's side, and somehow the fact that it's so clumsy and forceful only makes it more sexy.

When their shirts are off and their pants are undone and Rodney has a hickey and the other guy has two and has managed to tell Rodney his name again, Rodney arranges the guy - who, it turns out, is called John - against the door with his knees pushed apart and his pants pulled all the way down his hairy, muscular legs. When Rodney fishes into the back pocket of the jeans he's just taken off for a condom, John pouts at him.

"Do we have to use that?"

Rodney may be quite drunk but he's still a very smart guy. "I," he says, sounding out his words very deliberately and waving a pointed finger in no particular direction, "am a very brilliant fuzz- phys- scientist guy, and I am _not_ going to die of AIDS before I get my first doctorate, never mind my Nobel prize. And _you_ shu'be more careful with things that could kill you."

"You're not the first person to tell me that," John says.

"Well then. Shut up, put this on, and let me blow you."

John puts on the condom and lets Rodney blow him, but he definitely doesn't shut up. Since he's moaning and comparing Rodney to deities in a deep, rough voice, Rodney doesn't mind so much.

Rodney has always loved giving blow jobs. He's got a big mouth and a strong tongue and almost no gag reflex. He loves reducing men to quivering, groaning, gasping heaps of flesh. He loves the way everything else except the feel and heat of a cock in his mouth, sliding over his tongue and pulsing against his palate fades into the peripheries. He loves the way the rhythm calms down his racing thoughts and sobers him up a bit and lets him just feel.

He also loves getting fucked, which is why he pulls away just before John is about to come.

"What're you- why'd you stop?" John whines, and god help him, Rodney even finds the whine hot in his current condition. It takes him almost a minute of frantic fumbling to find the tube of lube in all of the pockets of the clothes scattered on the floor of the car. He dangles it in front of John's frowning face. "So you don't want to fuck me, then?"

John's frown disappears and his eyes get darker. He kicks off his boots and pants and then lunges at Rodney, biting at his lower lip, sucking on it and then fucking Rodney's mouth with his tongue. Rodney groans and ignores the way that different parts of the door are sticking into him in myriad uncomfortable ways and wraps his arms around John to hold his hard, naked body closer.

It takes some awkward maneuvering, but they finally end up with John slouched down in the middle of the bench seat and Rodney straddled over him, his knees shoved as far back into the seat as he can get them and his hands flexing and grasping at the backrest while John, after minor frustrated instruction from Rodney, fingers him, opening him up and getting him ready. Between the alcohol and the fact that he's been having regular sex for the past few months (any bitter or wistful thoughts of Mike fly out of his head when John rubs against his prostate and then kisses away the resulting moan) it doesn't take very long before he's reaching down and positioning himself. His thigh muscles twitch when he lowers himself onto John's cock, and they both curse at how good it feels.

John's hands flutter down his sides to squeeze his ass, and Rodney makes an inarticulate noise and shoves himself down on John even harder. "You have an absolutely amazing ass, you know, " John tells him, "and fucking gorgeous eyes. Whoever that TV guy was is a complete idiot."

Rodney throws his arms around John's neck and kisses him to shut him up, and then just because John is a really good kisser. He's almost drowning in sensation, and he knows that his car is rocking in a really obvious way, and that they're both insane to be doing this somewhere so public, even if it is a dark, deserted corner of a gay bar parking lot, but he wants to be insane tonight, so he just keeps lifting up and down despite his protesting muscles, and clenching when John grabs his hips and starts to thrust up into him even harder, and moving his mouth up and down John's neck to suck and lick and place stinging little bites at random places.

John bites his shoulder hard when he comes, and his hands twitch on Rodney's hips, and Rodney doesn't think he's heard anything as sexy as the guttural groan that's muffled by his own skin, and it only takes a few more thrusts right. there. before he's coming too, strings of semen painting John's chest and stomach.

They sit there, panting and gasping into each other's necks, the sweat drying cool on their skin and squeaking against the leather, until John's dick starts to soften and they have to move before everything gets even messier.

They use one of Rodney's many shirts to clean up, the fabric rough against sensitive skin, and Rodney doesn't say a word when John rolls down the window and throws the tied off condom into the trees behind the useless street light, just gets his jeans and t-shirt back on and moves into the front seat to give John some room to get his own clothes back on.

John doesn't sit down when he opens the passenger side door, just kneels on the seat and leans over to give Rodney a deep but surprisingly gentle kiss. When he leans back he looks at Rodney and runs his knuckles over Rodney's cheekbone. "Thanks," he says, and Rodney smirks, because it should sound ridiculous, but it doesn't.

"You too."

He doesn't offer John a ride back to his hotel, and John doesn't ask. He just says, "Bye," and John waves and shuts the door and he's disappeared into the darkness within ten seconds.

When Rodney wakes up the next morning, he doesn't remember driving home (which is a really good sign he shouldn't have been driving home in the first place) or Mullet guy's name. He remembers his eyes and his lips and the way his cock had felt in his mouth and the way his fingers had skimmed down his sides, not quite tickling, and how he'd told Rodney that he had fucking gorgeous eyes and that Mike was a complete idiot, and even though there were black eyeliner smears all over his pillow and his head was pounding, he smiled.

END

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. For littlebuttercup, who wanted Rodney/John and the prompt 'television', which she sort of got, only not really. I went off on a tangent. **Happy Birthday** anyway!  
>  2\. The title comes from a Blondie song of the same name.  
> 3\. There was a TVOntario educational television cartoon show about physics in the 80s called 'Eureka!' that was my semi-inspiration, and which did have an Educational Consultant called Michael Broschart, but this is set 10 years later, and I am in no way insinuating that he was a philandering queen. I was not yet born in 1980 and I live nowhere near Canada. All of the characters in this story are fictional and most of 'em belong to someone else.


End file.
